Survivors
by Midnight12reader
Summary: Hacking had always come as second nature to Q. It had to when one grew up in an environment that fostered genius and dealt swiftly and harshly with those who simply didn't measure up. It's no wonder Q turned out to be the best. He, just like Bond, is a survivor. And as one survivor to another, it was time to throw 007 a lifeline. WIP. Rated for later chapters.
1. Prologue

Q doesn't have the time or inclination to worry about Bond at this exact moment. He had his own job to do at the moment, he would save the worry for Bond's admirers, they always seemed to do enough hand ringing for the lot of them. After all, it wasn't like Bond couldn't more than take care of himself, at least for a short while. It's not like the man is a complete incompetent. But if his fingers fly a little faster over the computer keys, no one has the guts to comment. Just as no one comments on the lines of code flashing by, broadcasting to the entire room how far he is willing to go to bring back what is his. And that is what his agents are, of course, his, and he will make those who doubted it pay for their arrogance and stupidity for thinking otherwise.

The lines of computer code spiraled over the center console's screens. A deadly bit of code, designed to be used only in the truest of deist circumstances. It certainly wasn't his fault that the tracker implanted in Bond by the former Q had more potential than the good old Major had imagined, of one only knew how to manipulate the code, and the will to hack through the layers of encryption.

Hacking had always come as second nature to Q. It had to when one grew up in an environment that fostered genius and dealt swiftly and harshly with those who simply didn't measure up. It's no wonder Q turned out to be the best. He simply hadn't had the option not to. He, just like Bond, was a survivor. Willing to do what was necessary, whatever was necessary, to guarantee his own survival. And as one survivor to another, he was willing to lend a hand. It was time to throw 007 a metaphorical life raft. Even if M wasn't going to like the shit storm that was to follow as a result.


	2. First Meetings

Chapter 1

First Meetings

There had been much speculation in Q Branch over whether James Bond was going to chew up and spit out their new Quartermaster. After all, Bond's reputation was well known and documented. However, those that had come to know Q as he had risen through the ranks, knew that worrying about it was hardly worth the effort. Q, then R, was well able to handle anything that came his way and was fully capable of taking care of himself. Only a select few outside of Q branch knew that he had been handling 00s for his entire career as R, leaving only 007 and the more volatile agents under the direction of the now former Q. And no one would forget his first case with a Double-O.

The Double-O had taken one look at the pale, tadpole like figure, and thought that he could simply intimidate the much smaller man with the posh accent. When the agent had returned another one of his hand crafted gadgets in pieces, and again refused to fill out the proper requisition and debriefing forms, with a sneer and barely a glance no less, he had been subjected to the then R's particular brand of chastisement.

His ride home through afternoon traffic had been might by nothing but red lights. Thinking it nothing more than a bit of rotten luck, he had fallen into bed, only to be awoken as the power clicked out, the air rapidly taking on the blazing heat from the outside. After kicking off the blankets, the agent attempted to fall back asleep, only to be jarred awake by his alarm as the power flickered back on, only to die again moments later. After the second round of ringing, the alarm was snatched up and thrown against the far wall.

He rolled over to sleep only growl in frustration as the automated smoke detectors began to chirp through out the echoing apartment. Tempted to reach for the gun in the near nightstand drawer and simply shot the small bits of plastic to silence, he snagged the adjacent pillow and held it over his head as he buried his face into the mattress below.

Waking up with a headache and a shooting pain in his neck due to his awkward position throughout the night, he was pleasantly surprised to see that the power had come on and remained on some time during the night. He stepped into the shower, eager to have the hot water work out his lingering discomfort. As the first blast of warm water shot out of the shower head, he sighed only to jerk away and curse as the lights blew out with a pop and spark outside the shower door and the water turned to an ice cold stream.

It was a black eyed, and still damp agent, that stormed into Q branch, stalked up behind the boffin, and growled ineffectively at one of the few men he wasn't able to simply shoot. The skinny man hadn't even had the courtesy to glance his direction, merely paused in his typing to pick up a fairly large stack of forms, and dropped them one handed in front of the disgruntled agent with a dull thud. The agent had glanced at the small mound, only to snort derisively and stalk away.

It took a day and a half, but the last straw came when he had been unable to access his considerable funds while out with a gorgeous potential conquest. He could only watch impassively as the small black bank card was brought back to the table in tiny, cut up pieces artfully piled on a small silver tray. Needless to say, all the requisite forms where mysteriously filled out and on the boffin's desk the following afternoon. As rumors circulated, morphed, and spread regarding the incident, he had not had a repeat performance from that agent or any other agent under his purview.

However, some of the older, less modernized components of Q Branch were less than impressed with having such a scandalously young man as their direct superior, despite his antics at bringing the notorious Double-Os to heel. That quickly changed in the months immediately following the terrorist bombing. It was sheer coincidence that Silva's attack occurred while the retired Q was waiting outside M's office. Ironic, that his exit interview would mark his exit from not only the agency but from life.

Q branch became less concerned with the youth of their newest incarnation of Q, and more concerned with following his barked directions to maintain order and complete the duties he had assigned them. It was the only way that they avoided even greater loses that day. Few are aware that the attack was more wide spread than a single localized bomb.

With the internal hacking of the secure servers, the entire building had essentially been held hostage by a madman with access to highly sensitive systems, including the extensive and potentially lethal security measures dispersed throughout the building. It was his literal trial by fire, and he came out of it with the respect that he now took as his due, and with the official title of Quartermaster.

But with all issues of respect aside, Bond was considered a rather difficult agent to work with, and was often a topic of exasperation and fearful awe in Q branch. It was no wonder that their first meeting was spied upon by a host of government funded techs.

"He's bloody well going to catch us. You know it.", whispered Benny from the back, a short, squat, rather averagely boring looking fellow.

"I don't care," uttered Mark, "now shut it. I can't hear a ruddy thing." Benny shrunk away, fading further into the background.

"Don't say I didn't bloody warn you." He uttered as a parting shot. The small crowd gathered around, only to hear, _"…And do try to return the equipment in one piece." _The techs strained to hear only to be startled by a deadly soft utterance of, _"…R?"_

"Yes, Q?" R calmly inquired as she eyed the small group of techs. Benny could only grin as Mark and the rest of the nosy lot jumped like school boys caught looking at their first mag.

_"I feel it's time for us to acquire some extra storage space, don't you? Send someone out to clean and clear the area and move in the extra shipment from R&D. And to kill the rats, of course. Can't have them chewing up components."_

"Yes, Q, I believe I know just who to send."

_"Wonderful."_ Q clicked off his ear piece with a flick of a finger. He couldn't deny the vindictive thrill that went up and down his spine at the thought of the day now before his unruly subordinates. Really, he thought, they could have at least done a better job of it.

As he headed down the steps of the museum, he mused on his first encounter with the insufferable Double-0. It could have been worse, he supposed, but then again he knew he wasn't going to get much respect or anything else other than lip from 007 based on the last Q's reports. A challenge to handle, he had heard. It was a good things he wasn't easily phased, or riled as the case may be. He was more than up for the challenge.

His tongue seemed to be agile enough, Q scoffed to himself, but he wondered if at this late in his career he could live up to his reputation of being 'a blunt, yet highly intelligent instrument, and gifted with the ability to adapt to nearly any situation, yet possessing a tenacity and sense of duty that will not fail short of death.' He snorted quietly, Q must have been getting senile, or maybe he had just needed a new pair of spectacles. We'll see, he mused, but he rather doubted it. This was a young man's game after all, and 007 was far from being in pique condition.

Q was an avid believer in possessing as much of information as possible. After all, in this day and age, information was power. Q wasn't about to send any of his agents, even 007, out on a mission without knowing everything that there is to know about them and the mission at hand. Why M would select 007, a man who couldn't even pass the standard incoming evaluations, instead of one of the other, younger Double-Os, made him curious.

It was no trouble to unearth Bond's complete personnel file, especially for one of his caliber. It was surprising to say the least. The whole Vesper debacle put a different spin on Bond's mental stability, but overall his file was far from informative as to his current status. Something that would require further digging, no doubt.

After all, mussed Q, how can one predict the moves of the game without knowing all the pieces? If this hacker wanted to play a game, then who was Q to deny him the sound thrashing he so rightly deserved?

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Almost six months after what later came to be referred to as Operation Skyfall, and still Q would often find himself looking back on that first meeting. He could admit now, if only to himself, that he had gotten soft at MI6. Less vicious, more content to be underestimated and to bury his past behind the facade of a fragile cubicle flower, more at ease with codes and computers, than with people and violence.

It was time to remember the skills and the instincts that had enabled him to survive in Hell, because if he doesn't soon no one will be safe. The signs are there for those who know what to look for. They are coming for him. It was time to remember his roots, to go back to his base code. For he needs to, if he wants to survive yet again.

*A.N.: This is my first attempt at fanfiction. So any feedback would be treasured beyond measure.


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